


Why Are We (Best) Friends?

by Intruality_Overlord



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intruality_Overlord/pseuds/Intruality_Overlord
Summary: Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.Patton and Remus are best friends. They don't know why, or how, but they do know that they'd do anything for each other. Their friendship is messy, but so are they, and they eventually learn to not care what the others think.Or: Patton misplaced his innocence, and Remus may or may not have something to do with it, but Patton is still Patton... and an alcoholic- but Remus doesn't have anything to do with that.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 26
Kudos: 65





	1. Cookie Mix

**May 2nd, 2017.**

To say Patton was hammered, would be the biggest understatement ever conceived. Twelve bottles of cider had him misplace his share of the brain cell. He didn't have the cognitive ability to think the others seeing him like this would not be ideal, or any residual, instinctual fear in his bloodstream. Did he even have any blood at this point? His veins burned just like his throat while guzzling that bitter, bittersweet liquid conscience tranquilizer.

(Patton's liver fucking hates him.)

Welp, you can blame Patton's legs for listening to Patton. They shouldn't have enabled his poorly timed cookie cravings. And you can also blame the wall that foolishly did the job of keeping him upright, which Patton's spine had boycotted knowing the consequences of their actions.

And at least it was... somewhere around ten at night, Patton thought, so most had gone to bed by now. That was what the clock said last time he checked it, anyway... which was yesterday, by now.

He wandered into the kitchen and made a beeline for the cookie jar. (Beeline in the more accurate, literal sense that you couldn't tell where he was going until he got there—basically, not a straight line. How dare assume Patton could ever do anything straight). It was empty.

Patton would be damned if he didn't get his fucking cookies.

So what was the next best thing? He'd bake himself his own goddamn cookies.

Riffling through the kitchen cabinets, Patton came across a paper bag totally-not-suspiciously labeled "Cookie Mix.tm" and he grabbed it. Pft, duh, what else do you make cookies out of? The bag contained a white powder reminiscent of flour, and in Patton's mind, exactly what he suspected cookie mix looked like. Hmm... some milk and an egg would probably also help. Also, a bowl would be helpful.

Actually, nah, fuck bowls.

Just as Patton was about to put his... globulous creation the relative consistency of wet sand into the oven (or what his drunken mind referred to as "the hot box"), eggshell garnish and all, Remus just so happened to strut into the kitchen. He had been coincidentally drawn to the kitchen by his own cravings in search of his secret stash. Remus believed that the best place to hide your loot is in plain sight where people don't think to question it. Hidden things are only suspicious because of the fact they are hidden, so if they weren't hidden... To his credit, it had worked so far.

Until today.

"Oh, fuck."

Patton spun around at the sound of Remus's voice, losing his balance in the process. Not to worry, he slipped and thudded against Remus's chest, clinging to his sash and smearing white powder all over him. "Reeemuuss!" Patton greeted weirdly excitedly. Patton immediately forgot about the cookies. Out of sight, out of mind. Instead he just stared at Remus for a moment. "You... you rat, ratty Luigi man," he slurred, "nah, ra' sound mean. You more li'e... li'e a mouse. Mousey mouse knock off plumber mouse man."

"Are you okay?" Remus asked, his words coloured by disbelief and it's little brother who's unfortunately going through a midlife crisis, gleeful shock. One does not always come across the beacon of goodness with a higher concentration of alcohol than water making up their body. It was like waking up to a human sized salmon next to you, apparently named Malinda. Which then proceeds to slap you across the face with a slippery fin before splashing away screaming, "We're getting a divorce! You always eat all my spaghetti!" and when you wake for real, you don't even know how to begin phrasing that into a question google would understand. (Remus would know.) This was quality blackmail. Good thing Remus stumbled across Patton and not Deceit.

"Hehe... I've no idea wha' words are righ' now," was all Patton said as he giggled. Green sash clutched tightly, Patton was still staring at him. His weight leaned more and more into Remus. Remus thought it was like staring into the button eyes of a doll behind a thin pane of glass: Innocent until you remember it's Annabelle that you're staring at. He just kept staring, and staring. Remus might've thought Patton was trying to mind read. Maybe he was.

As the heart, Patton encompasses all of Thomas's feelings, including curiosity. Logan also played a big part in Thomas's curiosity, but he didn't have both kinds of curiosity, only the standard. Patton on the other hand, also experienced all of Thomas's morbid curiosity. Morbid curiosity, that feeling that stops you from looking away from a decaying carcass even though you really want to. That urge that keeps your eyes locked on that video of a parasite pulsating in that poor snail's eyestalks, or a zombie ant. (A feeling that the others severely discouraged Patton to entertain— not that he blamed them.)

(Many like to believe they'd never dare be so fascinated by the macabre and the gruesome. This is called denial.)

This always made it very hard for Patton to look away from Remus. It made him cling to every word Remus stringed into a sentence, no matter how obscene— especially actually. His morbid curiosity enticed him to Remus like a lamp to a moth— Wait— water to a duck's back— No—... Patton was very drunk. Don't expect him to be able to come up with similes and sayings.

A loopy, arguably deranged smile smiled stretched Patton's cheeks. "Your sash matches your eyes," he gasped deliriously. Patton booped him on the nose, then mindlessly twirled the curled ends of Remus's mustache (and it was nice in a queer way, as Remus was very willing to admit since his brother took every drop of dignity they had with him when they split). "An' your mustache loo' li'e mouse whis'ers— no! A lil' ca'erpilla'," he giggled. Then promptly passed out.

(Remus sighed, knowing he'd have to clean up Patton's mess for both their sakes. He hoped to whatever entity or entities held power over the universe that Patton hadn't eaten the... "dough" like he normally would have. By the looks of it, Patton could hardly handle one addiction as it was.)

(}ï{)

Patton regretted nothing. Mostly because he didn't remember anything to regret.

Until a few days later when Remus realised he couldn't take the pressing guilt of knowing his secret and told Patton what happened. They became fast friends from then on. Don't ask them exactly how they don't fucking know. This story is as much of an explanation you'll get.


	2. Fuck This

**The Present.**

"That fucker drives me fucking insane!" Patton's shouting bounced off the walls. "Virgil keeps getting fucking mad at me and I don't even know what I'm doing fucking wrong at this point, but he won't fucking tell me what the fuck it is either!" He ranted. Remus nodded along, sat across from him. His legs were crossed with his pointy elbows resting on top, and his spine bent awkwardly so he could settle his head in his palm. Thoroughly entertained, Remus hummed every now and then in agreement like a sham therapist.

"And Roman! He... he... You know why he's a bitch," Patton lamented. A cackle shattered Remus's short-lived, feigned seriousness.

_"The last time we saw you was fucking Christmas,"_ Patton mocked. "Maybe because you didn't fucking invite me, idiot. Of course Logan wouldn't, though, all high and mighty smartass. And my puppet idea was a fucking good idea goddamnit. Bullshit. Bullshit!— ugh," Patton sighed out his remaining traces of frustration. He crossed his arms over his chest and sunk into the green bean bag. Some of the styrofoam beads spilled out a small tear on the poor, battered, ever shrinking bean bag.

Grinning wildly, Remus said, "While that was a marvellous performance, I must say it could do with a little more variety in your profanity." Patton gave an amused, breathy snort.

"Why are we friends, Remus? You're such a bad influence on me," Patton said teasingly. Remus rolled his eyes as Patton plucked another Pepsi can (which contents had most definitely not been poured down the drain and refilled with a concoction of cocktails) from his mini fridge. Remus let Patton hide his alcohol stockpile in his room since his dear friend was so paranoid of the other sides discovering it. "Encouraging me to curse, letting me have access to vodka..."

"Oh, shut up. You've become an alcoholic all on your own," Remus said dismissively.

"...True," Patton conceded. "You were always more the type for cookie mix," Patton added as an afterthought. Remus doubled over into a laughing fit. Cookie mix most certainly had nothing to do with cocaine. He couldn't help but laugh at the smug knowing look Patton sent him as him floundered.

"You— you can't— I've been clean for a few months now!" Remus said defiantly, sinking further into his beanbag with his arms crossed. (Quickly, Remus double checked, pulling his hair over his eyes only to find clear brown, no white in sight. Phew.) Patton hummed sceptically. "But you did have shrooms recently," he teased.

Remus huffed. "No I haven't— ...Wait—" Remus paused, "Have I?"

"I don't know," Patton smiled, "Have you?" Remus let his eyes wander the room. "I can't remember..."

Patton rolled his eyes fondly.

"You know as long as you're not over doing it, and you're being as safe as possible, it's fine with me. I don't have any right to judge," Patton said reassuringly. Yes, Patton knew it was inherently wrong to not at least try and steer his friend onto a less self-destructive path. Remus, to him, was like a hairless Chinese Crested puppy. Very weirdly adorable in the nasty kind of way. (That sounds bad, but he truly means it in the best way possible. What he lacked in hair as a metaphorical dog, he made up for in personality and a good heart muddle somewhere in there). Which meant he struggled to ever say no to him.

Patton also knew that the last thing he wanted to be was a hypocrite. Maybe once he got himself on the right track, then he'd intervene more.

"Seriously, how did we ever become friends?" Patton said genuinely. "I still thought babies were delivered by stalks when we first became friends."

"I dunno... we just did," was all Remus could come up with. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he couldn't quite get comfy, he resorted to sitting upside down on the couch instead. Much better.

Silence settled over the two for a minute. Patton stared into space, deep in thought. Taking sips of his drink, he felt the alcohol lethargically burning down his throat. Remus resorted to picking at his nails again in the stillness, wondering if it's possible to have a tattoo underneath your nails.

"I don't regret it," Patton said thoughtfully. Remus cocked his head to the side, neck cracking when his body slipped down the sofa a bit. "Becoming friends with you," Patton clarified. "You're the best friend I could ask for, really. You don't baby and shelter me like the others. You let me just... be," Patton said sincerely. "Which always seems too much to ask of the others," Patton tacted on bitterly. He took a generous swig as if to emphasize his point. Remus scoffed, the tiny movement making him slide the rest of the way down onto the carpet. "Aww I'm flattered, honey." His tone was excessively teasing, yet his expression was anything but.

Midst lazily reaching for another can, Remus swatted Patton's hands away. "I think that's enough. You're already starting to monologue. If you keep going you'll have a hangover so bad, it'll feel like you actually hanged yourself," Remus tutted. While Patton was no light weight (his words hadn't even begun to slur yet), from the way Patton was chugging it down, Remus knew his body just hadn't caught up yet.

Meekly lolling his head back to face skywards, Patton whined but didn't protest. Sinking lower into the cushy bean bag, his eyes traced imagery patterns on the ceiling.

God, Remus knew that look.

"I just don't know anymore, ReRe," Patton said defeatedly, "Every time I think I'm over it, they keep giving me false hope. Everything I say and feel is ignored, and whenever I'm right, they always think it's a stupid flook. They never listen. I don't think they ever will at this rate. I don't even know if I want to be friends with them anymore or I'm just really fucking lonely and my brain's just hard wired to associate, I don't know, being happy? With them?" His eyes were vacant, dull. "Why can't it be like when we were little?"

While the whole point of their little get together was for Patton to vent with free will to cuss as needed, this more sappy, philosophical stuff... Remus didn't like. You can't blame him for not liking to see his best friend this miserable. Still, he knew it was best to let Patton keep going.

"Even if they did actually care about me, I'm sure they'd stop the moment they knew we're like... a thing. Logan would think I'm crazy— Virgil and Roman too... I know what they'd think of us and it's so— so—" Patton made a nondescript noise of frustration. "They'd say you corrupted me or some shit. I... I'm not embarrassed of you. I should stop acting like I am. I hate this stupid dumb angel reputation I have anyway. I'm just... I have to admit the only real reason I haven't really said anything at this point is it's kinda funny seeing their reactions whenever I accidentally say something that sounds wrong."

Remus chuckled. "I don't know how they haven't caught on yet, honestly. Your half of our brain cell is just as sick as mine. They must be in denial."

"Yeah..."

...

"I should be going to bed," Patton tried to stand up. As soon as he stood however, his knees buckled. Remus dashed to his side and caught him. "You goof..." Remus positioned him upright. Steadying hands on his hips, Patton tried to stand up straight. A task easier said that done when you're a gay panic. Inevitably, Patton limply collapsed on top of Remus.

"I don't think I can make it to my room..." Patton's cheeks flushed and the red ran down his neck.

"You wet noodle."

"You... blue cheese lover."

("Is that supposed to be an insult?")

("Who the fuck likes blue cheese?")

Arm slung over his shoulder, Remus hauled Patton into the hallway and onwards. He would have carried Patton if he hadn't been so surprisingly stubborn. All well, anything to make him happy. They returned to their earlier, lighter bantering. The alcohol started to really catch up with Patton, his quips came slower. No less witty, though (by their standards).

Everything would've gone like normal if it wasn't for a certain nerd who had decided on a coffee before bed. Most counterproductive. As soon as Logan had started out his room, he spotted them. His eyes settled into a potent, yet subtle glare. Like a droplet of poison spilt on an unassuming biscuit.

"What the..."

"Logyyy!" Patton perked up at the sound of his voice, lifting himself from Remus's side that he'd been slumped on. The sudden movement made him lose balance. Scrambling to catch himself, Remus found himself with two arms wrapped around his shoulders now.

"Is... is he— are you drunk?" Logan sputtered. Disbelief shaped his words like they felt alien on his tongue. "I'm not thaaaat drunk!" Patton retaliated. Logan ignored him, cold, tired eyes set on Remus. "What did you do to him?" Logan said as aggressively as a guinea pig could manage. Confusion still mostly coloured his stare. "Me an' Re er havin' bestie time, duh!" Patton answered. He sounded giddy, but his voice had a touch of satire only drunken Patton could manage. Even in his drunken state, Patton subconsciously was trying to maintain his image.

Remus frowned. This learnt behaviour was ingrained into Patton.

"He shouldn't be around someone like you in such a vulnerable state," Logan said, already trying to pry Patton from his arms. "No—" Remus began, looping his arms securely on Patton's waist, "I'll take care of him."

"Noooo," Patton recoiled, trying to melt into Remus's side. "It's bestiee tiiiimme wi' Emu." Patton's arms slid up Remus's shoulders around his neck as he squirmed. "You're drunk, Patton," Logan dismissed.

Seething, Remus shoved Logan off. "You heard him," he said, sternly. "Back off before I carve out your tongue, blend it, and force feed it to you," he threatened. Arms crossed, Logan huffed like an exhausted parent. "You're all bark, no bite," he dismissed.

"Oh honey, you ha' no idea how mu' he bi'es."

Schooling his face into glares and scrunched eyebrows, Remus sighed out the giggles brewing in his lungs. Nonetheless, Patton was proud of the brief smug smile he provoked. Pretending he didn't hear that, Logan insisted, "You're a bad influence on someone like Patton. People like you shouldn't be around him, especially when he's inebriated."

"Better under the supervision of a friend. He'd drink himself to death otherwise."

"Yes, but preferably, that should be Virgil or Roman or I, most certainly not you."

"It's not my fault he doesn't feel comfortable enough around anyone else, tin can."

"Re," Patton interrupted, whining, "I'm bored le's gooo." He tugged on him.

"—He's drunk he doesn't know what he's saying— you know what— Okay, Patton, you choose. Me," Logan pointed to himself, "or him?" He said overly pronouncing his words.

...

"...'M drunk not a fuckin' kid," was Patton's response. "We go now," and he was stumbling down the hallway dragging Remus with him.

Both missed the shell shocked expression on Logan, not daring to believe his ears. Patton cursing? An intoxicated Patton, no less? No. Nope. Absolutely not. He needed coffee desperately.

When they finally got to Patton's room, Remus carefully directed him, even lowering him onto his bed. Patton had the tendency to unceremoniously flop face first onto his bed like a starfish.

"I swear I'm gonna strangle Logan," Remus muttered as he made sure Patton was comfortable, tucking in his blankets.

"I don' think he into bdsm," Patton said as an offhanded thought.

"You never know. He could be partial to a spider gag..."

"You really just want to try that thing out don't you? I swear to god— oof." Remus snatched his pillow from beneath his head to fluff it. Pretending to not pretend he was punching a sheep's limp corpse, he fluffed it extremely thoroughly.

"You gotsa stop relying on me to keep you in check, ya know," Patton pouted, arms crossed. "Your— you're fuckin' innsaaane!"

"I only ask you sometimes..." Remus said (the worst part about that sentence was that it was utterly true).

Blank stare piercing Remus, Patton paused a moment for his brain to function before deadpanning, "I'd like to talk to you about Jesus Christ—"

Remus shoved Patton's pillow back, and he promptly forgot everything in favour of burrowing down into his bed. Touch light as moonlight, Remus herded Patton's wild locks from his forehead. "What am I gonna do with you..."

"You're na' gon change my mind... kinky b-hole," Patton mumbled, caught between the conscious world and sleep. Remus's eyes smiled. Crouching down, he hovered over Patton. Hovered over his forehead, wondering. Pondering, debating, convincing himself. His breath stirred Patton's brown locks. They scattered like a spooked flock. Running. Patton shivered.

He shouldn't. Backing away, Remus was ready to switch the lights off and evacuate, yet was stopped.

"Reeemuuuuuss," Patton called. Suddenly, he was wide awake again.

Huh?— his breath hitched. His hand caught on the doorway.

"Staaaaayyy! Preddy please?" He made grabby hands.

But— they don't—

Did he deserve...? Right now? His nails dug into the doorframe.

...

"Okay! I'm coming, I'm coming," Remus assured, relenting. Lazy giggles from Patton rewarded him. Flicking off the light, Remus strode back over. Laying together in silence, Remus picked the paint and splinters out from underneath his nails and waited. When Patton didn't budge, Remus took his arms and used them like a seat belt. Simultaneously, Patton glued himself to his back like a limpet. A warm wall of heat.

"Remouse?" He mumbled into his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"You're really sweet. like... like tomato sauce."

...

Welp okay then.


	3. Duck

**Loosen Up**

**May 26th, 2017.**

Tiny little sips did Patton take, swishing the liquid around before swallowing each drop. Cautious. Procrastinating. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Why are you so embarrassed? I've seen you so drunk that if you weren't a figment of imagination, the police could have been outlining your dead body in chalk the next morning. You don't have anything to be shy about," he said. Patton glared at him. "That's exactly what's so embarrassing!" He shrieked. "It's bad enough knowing that happened! I don't want a repeat!"

"That's the whole point of this, Pat. I'm here so you don't get completely pissed like that again. And if you do, I'll stop you from being stupid."

...

"I'm always stupid," Patton mumbled into his next sip. Albeit, it was a slightly bigger sip. Remus would have argued with Patton, but he hadn't planned a heart to heart and felt rather unprepared. At least he knew Patton had already drunk enough to not think too hard about what he was saying. Baby steps.

Turned out the snowball effect settled in soon after that. The more Patton drank the less he thought to regulate himself so he drank more. Remus discovered that night that Patton became efficiently, drunkenly relaxed at five cans of... whatever collection of concoctions Patton had mixed up.

"Wait Wait Wait Wait Wait! If I'm a figment of Thomas's imagination, but you're Thomas's imagination, does that mean you could, like, make me," Patton made a charade of what would have resembled an explosion if he still had his fine motor skills intact, "poof? If you wanted?"

Patton had had six cans and was on his seventh.

Remus blinked at him. There was some semblance of sense in that thinking, and Remus did love a good "what if?" question. "I don't know..." he said. "Why don't you try?!" Patton exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Remus for a split second thought of how adorable Patton's excitement was—

"Hell no!" He snapped. Patton whined. Sulking, he flopped back down in his chair like a voodoo doll that had just been angrily launched into a wall. "You're s'posed to be fun!" Patton chugged the rest of his can and didn't bother to put it down. Instead, it just toppled and rolled out of his lax grasp.

"If it worked then you wouldn't exist anymore!"

"So?"

Remus also discovered that Patton's attitude was just as bad as Virgil's. At least Remus knew his limits now for future reference.

"Well if you stopped existing you wouldn't know if it worked or not because you wouldn't exist," Remus reasoned, and he wanted to scrub his tongue with soapy sandpaper.

"...What if we tried it on Roman?"

"Damn you, that's tempting."

** Multimedia **

** August 30th, 2017. **

"Heya Remus—" Out of all the anarchy encapsulated in the room, Patton instantly fixated on the razor. The blade devilishly glinted. Patton glared at the offending mustache slayer.

"Don't you dare."

"Patton! I was just—"

"Leave the moustache alone!" Patton pounced, lunging for the shaver, and Remus shrieked a very manly shriek. Plumes of white flew free from Remus's fringe in the kerfuffle. "Your mustache is special and perfect just the way it is!" Patton said. Wrestling the razor from Remus's grip, which on further inspection was definitely for shaving your legs and not facial hair, and confiscated it.

"I know!"

What?

"That's why I need it for my self portrait!"

What?

What looked like very grainy flour caught in Remus's fringe made it appear silver, enhancing the pearly whites that split his lips into a beaming grin. Patton swore his teeth looked slightly pointier than usual. Each syllable rolled around Remus's tongue exaggeratedly long before he spat it out. And the crazed look in his eyes looked especially crazed, circled in red like a big mistake.

Oh, he's high.

Wait, what?

Hooking an arm around Patton's, a stark gentlemanly contrast to Remus's distinctly wild hair, bloodshot eyes and suddenly apparent absence of a three piece suit, and yanked Patton to stand before his work in progress.

"I'd ask what you think, but it's not quite finished," he said, giddy.

Paint was splattered all across the canvas.

And across the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, and after spending five minutes in the room Patton somehow had some too. (Remus was always more of a catcher than a thrower. Terrible aim.) Focusing on an individual area, it looked like a nonsensical mess. There were handprints, globs of textured brush strokes, and scratch marks. Acrylic and watercolour paints with salt adding texture. Swatches of silk, sprinkles of glitter. The only orderly aspect of the piece was the fact it stuck strictly to a dominantly green colour pallet with accents of blue. Even so, there were hints of pinks, yellows, and purple. Tasteful hints, mind you. Oh, there's some red, too—

"Is that blood?"

"A happy little accident involving a blunt pallet knife. That's all."

As a whole, though, when you stepped back it clearly was Remus's self portrait. Amongst all the chaos, his outline was clear and confident. Insane smile and all. (Except for his moustache, which seemed to be the final missing piece.)

Patton looked closer. Woven in were more intricate details. Passages from Alice In Wonderland and Little Shop Of Horrors ("You love her madly, don't you, shmuck" was one he picked out)— other books, musicals, and movies Patton couldn't name— fit seamlessly into the collage. Everything was written in different, swirly fonts or magazine clippings.

Then he looked even closer. Patton squinted.

"Is that fucking dick glitter?"

"Green and blue duochrome dick glitter!"

It was the most accurate self portrait Patton had ever seen (or ever would). A massacre of common sense. It was his internal tumultuous frenzy in a visual medium. A celebration of self love in a uniquely Remus way.

"I'd frame that and put it on the fridge," Patton said genuinely. Remus _preened_. "It's... exceptional, really."

But did Remus really have to sacrifice his adorable face caterpillar for it?

"I can't wait to add the finishing touches!"

"Are you really going to put your own moustache on it?"

Remus burst into rambling only a select few could comprehend. Sentences clumsily overlapped each other as Remus spilled the direct translation of his thought process. And within that mess, the words were crushed like a Pepsi can (Yes, Remus could taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Yes, he purposefully drinks only Pepsi), squishing the vowels out of existence. In Patton's case, though, he was able to translate the garbled soup of consonants roughly to, "One does not simply soil the sacred authenticity of multimedia!"

"Can't you just..." Patton shrugged. "I don't know— use some fake fur or something instead?" He argued.

"Ugh," Remus grunted, "That sounds like something Roman would do. His art is so flat and boring! Always so play it safe, never experiments," He ranted passionately, throwing his arms in all directions. "And there's never enough glitter!" He scoffed. Pent up energy drove him in stomping circles. _"Too much glitter makes it look childish,"_ he said, tone swinging into a mock impression. "There's no such thing as too much glitter! I don't care if it gets everywhere. I'd happily leave glitter stuck in my teeth rather than some stupid, diet of the week salad! And Roman wants to claim _he's_ the gayer one?! Huh, bullshit."

Patton checked if his ears hadn't conked out. They screeched like microphone feedback. (His ears and Remus.)

"Roman's such a bitch— I fucking hate him so goddamn fucking much, the cunt." Remus thrust his hand into the nearest paint can, and readied the colourful grenade.

Patton grabbed his wrist, hastily. Globs of acrylic paint slipped from his fist, reuniting with a green puddle soaked into the carpet.

"Uh-um," Patton cut in, improvising a distraction, "Why don't we have a drink and watch, uh... ah, um— Ratatouille?" Fizzing with nerves, Patton cracked a hopeful smile. One Remus couldn't help mimicking. "A drink of water!" Patton quickly corrected, "and Ratatouille."

("Giggle water?"

"Emu, no.")

"I love that movie!" Remus said, clapping his hands. More green sprayed them in Remus's brazen excitement.

It worked. Patton breathed a quick sigh of relief.

Beaming, he cupped Patton's face in his cold, sticky, stained hands. "You always have such good ideas!" Remus gushed. That was a rare, rare compliment. Patton's face blazed. For a second he was sure the paint would evaporate from his skin.

No, his wine red complexion was hidden.

Green handprints drying on his cheeks, Patton watched the movie with Remus just like that. After, Remus finished the painting properly. Instant grief followed shaving his moustache. But when he grew it back, he was ultimately happy with the results.

** Drowning and Itchy **

** October 4th, 2017. **

Remus's skin was crawling. It scraped against his muscles like a cheap woollen blanket, disturbing his tired bones beneath.

Itchy. It was a strange, unrecognisable itch that he couldn't satisfy with his usual means. Hugging himself, he frustratedly tried to stop the grating of his nerves. Yet the itch became worse. Now it felt like worms digging through and munching away at his flesh like rotten brussel sprouts (nobody liked those but starving worms and maggots, or goody-two-shoes nerds).

Puppy, Moonshine, his sweet, _sweet_ Apple. His head screamed, ringing in the hollow his thoughts' absence left. The ringing echoed in his bored ears that tried to stimulate themselves. Yes, Patton would know how to fix whatever this was. Patton, his rebellious little Teddy Bear, could— will fix him.

He didn't dawdle— not even to acknowledge how funny the word dawdle sounded— sinking down, and rising up in Patton's room.

The familiar effects of the room half-heartedly soaked his feet like a lukewarm, lapping tide.

"Hiya, Remus. What are ya doin' here?"

The ringing dripped out his ears like water that had been trapped since he showered last. Basking in the melody of the words, observing the natural shape of the sentence. High pitched, bouncing and slurred, in a minor key. Remus didn't realise how much he craved his voice until then. Muscles tightly twisted around his ribs uncoiled and he breathed deeply.

"Thomas is thinking about Guys," Patton said, not knowing what else to say. Standing rigid, his arms tied to his sides, Remus said, "Oh." Strangling the glass neck of a bottle half empty, Patton added, "And Dolls."

"Oh," Remus repeated dumbly. The simple syllable sat anchored low in his throat. "Oh..."

Shoulders hunched, trying to become small and narrow, Patton hugged the bottle to his chest— Then he shook his head, opening his arms and offered the drink. But Remus impulsively took his open arms as a different form of offering, crumpling onto his lap. He tucked his head under Patton's chin like he needed him to hold his red blotched body, quivering from overstimulation after the fog of his mind cleared— together.

And Patton bundled him in his arms.

The room's atmosphere was humid with longing, and thick with rejection like so much perfume it stings. Remus let his heavy lids fall, fisting handfuls of Patton's polo shirt.

Patton gave Remus a small squeeze, then hesitantly peeled his arms away. Confused, Remus only frowned, and borrowed deeper into the embrace. Circling one arm around Patton's waist, Remus's other crossed Patton's back to cling to his shoulder from behind. Their chests were brought flush together. Then Remus felt Patton's hiccuping breath shivering through his frame.

"You're not... lea-eav-i-ing?" Patton sniffled. Sheer denial kept Patton's glass arms, shivering from his squeaky, muted whimper, hovering above the dip of Remus's back.

"Do you want me to?"

Shallow shuddering breaths desperately tried to dry his tear-waxed eyes. "No," he pleaded.

"Then no." And Patton's collapsed into cuddling the absolute shit out of Remus. Desperate fingers dug into Remus's shirt. A pinky innocently wandered underneath the fabric making sure Remus was there, and warm, and real, and staying.

It was bizarre to be so close to someone in such an innocent setting, for Remus. Well, perhaps not bizarre, but he wasn't familiar with it. He could get used to it.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," Patton whispered, sighing as his tears evaporated on his cheeks and fogged his glasses. The hot puff of breath bussed the shell of Remus's ear. "I think... I just really needed a hug, too," Remus admitted, nuzzling him even further. Remus hid his nose in Patton's shoulder, and Patton hid his in Remus's hair.

"If you ever feel like this again, you can always come to me?" Patton offered, but it sounded mostly like a request. Cold water of dread splashed Remus's face.

Did Patton always feel this way?

"Really?" Remus asked instead.

"I'll always be here to give you as many hugs as you want," Patton said, and Remus could hear his watery smile, "anytime."

They stayed together for what could have been hours or days, for all they cared. Inevitably, Patton settled his thumbs into Remus's back dimples— Yes, he was precious, and pliant, and staying. Remus experimented with the spring of Patton's curls. Until—

Patton felt a pulse through him, like his stomach being pulled down in an elevator. Resisting it made the contents of his stomach slosh. He shuddered.

"R-Remus."

Unwilling to bother with proper articulation, the contented bundle in Patton's arms gave a tiny hum. Patton hugged Remus closer when his voice didn't work immediately. Nose grazing Patton's chin, Remus tipped his head up ever so slightly in silent question.

"They're trying to summon me," he finally gulped.

"Hmpf?" Remus simultaneously startled and wilted. He steadied himself on Patton's shoulders. "You're going?" Remus murmured, searching his eyes. Without realising, Remus shifted so his legs also hugged him close around the hips. A protective cocoon of limbs.

"I'll come back as soon as I can. I promise."

Patton locked their eyes, and Remus wished his glasses weren't in the way. He swept his fringe aside, and their eye contact broke only for Patton's gaze to flick to Remus's gentle hand and back. The space between seemed as far as the sun from the dark side of the moon.

And Patton slipped out beneath him as he sunk down.

Gracelessly, Remus belly flopped onto the bed without support. Patton's shoulders were so sturdy, he noted... rather circled and underlined that already present mental note.

Not knowing what else to do, he curled up in the duvet. Aimlessly, he groped for one of Patton's many stuffed toys. He desperately tried to retain the swiftly abandoning warmth with the fluffy substitute.

He understood, just... he was another kind of mess today.

(}ï{)

Remus had nearly fallen asleep when he felt the foundation of the room shift. It warped around, and Remus quickly checked his eyes with his phone's camera in case he had gotten high and didn't remember. Nope, the room was really changing around him and steadily settling into a reflection of the common room.

"Remus!" Patton popped up so quickly he overbalanced. "Puppy?" He sped across the room to see Patton's eyes glazed like his favourite donuts— "What's happening—"

"Shut up! You need to leave—"

"Wh—"

"The others are coming— no jokes no time— go go go quick!" He spluttered pressing on his shoulders so hard, the unstable room's floor gave way, and he was rising up into his own room before he could wipe away the brimming, panicked tears from Patton's reddening eyes.

They nearly got caught.

They... Thomas nearly... he hadn't seen Roman since— What would Virgil— oh god— oh, Patton...

Remus could have ruined everything.

His itchy arms felt empty.

(}ï{)

Remus didn't like Patton's new cat hoodie.

(But it's okay, Remus can learn to accept second place.)

**Drunkiversary**

**December 25th, 2017.**

I DON'T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED.

Thump.

I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

Thump.

I JUST WANT YOU FOR MY OWN.

Thump.

MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER KNOW.

Thump.

MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE.

Thump.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU!

Thump. Thump. Thump. **Thump.**

Maybe if Patton tried hard enough, he could burst his assaulted eardrums and end his misery. All he needed was enough kinetic energy. He already had a wall to bang his head against, but maybe he should upgrade to a hammer— or better! A—

I DON'T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS—

Wine bottles littered at Patton's feet (damn that weak, cheap, shit Thomas bought) obscured the plush carpet beneath that his toes curled and dug into. Their glossy surfaces glared at him. Patton would scream at Roman to _shut the **fuck up**_ if he was coherent. (Whether he was incoherent from drinking or a concussion, it was a mystery.) As it was, all he could do was rip out the carpet fibers with his toes and—

SANTA CLAUSE WON'T MAKE ME HAPPY.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Would the thick glass bottles be more effective than the wall? Patton wondered, as he tried scrounging up the motivation to convince his arms to budge.

WHAT MORE CAN I DO.

Thump. Thump.

They were going to have a secret Santa together. Patton thought they were going to have dinner, complete with turkey no one actually liked, build gingerbread houses, open Christmas crackers, play card games and monopoly together. Patton thought they were going to drink eggnog together. Patton thought they were going to spend Christmas together.

They had a secret Santa.

And that was it.

LAUGHTER FILLS THE AIR.

Thump... Thump-p-p.

One last pathetic thump like a bouncing tennis ball losing momentum. Alcohol settling more into his system, Patton gave up. He slid down the wall like a hose with its water supply cut off. Screaming, that translated into a sad gurgle, tripped on his teeth.

"Oh, fu— Pat, buddy."

THE ONE I REALLY NEED.

Bottles clinked together as Remus waded through them. Blasphemy and profanity squeezed betwixt his tense lips like lemon juice. To Patton's ears, they tasted like the sweetest lemonade.

"Aw, big guy..." Remus murmured, surveying the damage. Patton made a vague noise of disagreement. Settling a hand on his shoulder, Remus crouched down beside him. "Yes, I know you're short. Doesn't mean you're not big in other respects..." he teased with a weak grin. Patton made a louder slightly less vague noise of disagreement. "I'm not calling you fat, you know that," Remus squawked like an indignant seagull. What an accusation— for Patton to think— what kind of friend did he take him for? A fraud? "Broad shouldered, sure," he said. "Though, still, not what I meant. Anyway."

Remus's suffering smile slipped. Only the corner of his mouth hung on, leaving a minuscule smirk.

(Blearily, Patton noted how Remus was wearing a very amateur, very familiar scarf. That mental note fluttered from his grasp as soon as he mentally wrote it.)

"I got something for you," Remus eventually said, presenting a blanket to him. The warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine.

In Patton's floating mind, he forgot what colours were, but there were a lot of them. Lots and lots of colours and Patton called them all yellow, for now, since that's all he remembered. All the many shades of yellow swirled together in intricate patterns, but his eyes were swimming too much to decipher it.

Suddenly, Patton was being swaddled with the blanket— Oh fuck, he realised, it wasn't the warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine. No, it was incomprehensibly warm and fluffy.

Remus wrapped Patton in an extra layer, his amorous arms, and held him snuggly to his beaten, rickety chest. Excitedly, his heart nudged and poked at Patton's tenderised head. "I'm here," Remus's voice was a wisp of steam from a marshmallow piled hot chocolate, "I'm here. You're not alone, I'm here." A sugar coated plume of fluffy steam, "See?"

Remus's trembling tickled Patton as he gave him a grounding squeeze.

"D-don't," Remus stammered. Misty eyed, words drowning, "Don't... don—" he expelled his shivering with a steadying sigh. "You're not allowed to give up."

Oh Remus, of course he was always there for Patton.

"I care. You hear me?"

Tears tottered over Patton's eyelashes. He didn't even have a Christmas sweater to give Remus.

I DON'T WANT A LOT—

Remus wasn't exactly what Patton had expected to get— or, heck— fucking hell, deserved even, for a friend. But he was fucking grateful for him.

BABY ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU.

(}ï{)

The blanket didn't have any yellow, Patton later discovered the next day. With his pounding heachache, he convinced himself it wasn't worth it to facepalm. It was truly a water marble design of blues, greens, and grays. Patton loved it, and still couldn't comprehend how warm and fluffy it was.


	4. Eggnog

** December 25th, 2016. **

_As much as the fans like to think all the sides in the mind were a tight knit family, it wasn't this way. (Would hardly pass as that now, either.) During childhood, they talked to each other far more, but as most childhood friends do, they drifted apart. Most of the time, the sides all kept to themselves. Every now and then, the others would obligatorily chat with Patton with feigned interest, and shrug him off at their first opportunity. An opportunity they normally made up themselves. Logan and Roman didn't even include him in their little "business meetings" discussing Thomas's life choices (even when he arguably had the most influence over Thomas than anyone else). Thomas had recently come up with this new idea, the Sander Sides series. An idea Patton had, with feeble hope, inspired in Thomas. It wasn't very promising, Patton knew, if it was going to be like his every other attempt. First few episodes done, and yet he still didn't expect to be proven wrong._

_Patton tried to keep them together, he really did. This was one of his many failed attempts. A perfect example._

His only company was the dimly glowing christmas tree that was brighter than his future, rather than the two to six sides he'd been expecting. That, and his own thoughts. Foolish of him, frankly. He should be grateful. It was more company than usual.

What if he just popped in to see Thomas? No... he had family over. Bad timing— bad timing for Patton, more like it. For god's sake, he'd expected at least Roman would've been up to some festivities.

That's when he heard "All I want For Christmas Is You" blasting down the hallways. The mind palace vibrated as Thomas started humming the blasted song to himself.

He wanted to bang his head against the table.

Beneath the tree sat a near rainbow of carefully wrapped gifts, matching handmade scarfs, sprinkled with pine needles. Huh, the moping tree didn't want to be there either, apparently.

_Deciding on drowning himself with booze wasn't a light decision, but, at the time, seemed the only other alternative. He'd been about to pick up a razor, and the only thing that stopped him was knowing nobody deserved that. He knew no one deserved that, even if he felt like an exception. In comparison, brandy spiked eggnog had seemed rather harmless. So that's what he settled with._

Sitting at the kitchen table Patton's forehead so desperately wanted to become very acquainted with, the six glasses of eggnog he'd prepared for his guests challenged him. _Take a sip, come on. No one else will, and you really shouldn't be so wasteful._

No. No— he shouldn't. He really shouldn't—

Hastily, Patton summoned a cookie the size of his palm. He scoffed it down in six bites.

Patton was feeling a little dangerous.

Before the after taste settled in, Patton summoned another generous cookie. He choked forcing the normally comforting treat down his gullet. Dry crumbs scraped him when he swallowed.

Why wasn't it helping? Even cookies didn't want to deal with comforting him anymore.

Light winked tauntingly at Patton off the glasses' rim, flaring in delight from his watering eyes. It could help. If only Patton wasn't _so freaking stupid, useless, juvenile—_

_Ignore how many shades self harm comes in._

He shouldn't, he knew. He felt it in his gut, he shouldn't, but... Just this once, he wouldn't listen to his feelings— himself. Follow everyone else's example.

_Life, he had found, was like a game of limbo. How low can you go? How low before your back breaks._

Would the eggnog be his friend?

_Time to set the bar a little lower, he supposed._

He took his first gulp of eggnog. Swishing the liquid around his mouth, he made sure each taste bud was coated. All the froth masked the burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat. It soothed his scraped throat.

_As far as Patton was concerned, he was winning._

Seemed like Patton's thoughts left the party early. Rooted in its spot, the Christmas tree sagged jealously as it couldn't leave too.

(}ï{)

Six servings of eggnog later, Patton personally delivered each present. He didn't get so much as a "thank you" from anyone, but doing a good deed, appreciated or not, temporarily settled the prickling under his skin. It made him feel good enough for a moment.

So what if they didn't care about Patton? That wasn't going to stop Patton from caring yet (as much as he didn't want to).

(Roman was convinced Santa existed by Boxing Day.)


	5. Fuck You

** The Present. **

"How much do you remember?" Remus nagged the next morning as Patton bustled around his room getting dressed.

"I wasn't black out drunk!" Patton retaliated, "I remember everything." Patton wasn't, and he'll say it again, not a lightweight. No. Not that the thought offended him in any way shape or form. "I mean, it's fuzzy, but still," he mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it off over his head.

"So... Logan knows and now probably the others..." Remus clutched the rumpled bed sheets, his eyes stretched wide to accommodate all his stress. Waiting for the floorboards to open their jaws and swallow him, chew and spit him out again, he stared at it expectantly. He'd rather bleed to death from splintery teeth than deal with this right now, and he wouldn't have to if he resembled mashed potatoes. This fucking stress. This guilt.

"I'm over thirty years old! It's normal, having a drink with a friend!" Patton dismissed with a wave of his hand, swatting Remus's very real, very valid concerns away. Not entirely unusual. That is, if they were talking about something as trivial as why Mother Nature created hyenas the way she did. Poor things, childbirth was already messy enough.

"They shouldn't be so shocked. Now where's my—" Patton whisked around the room looking for a change of clothes, and Jesus, he needed to clean his room. He found his one clean polo wedged behind his wardrobe. Remus thought he was entirely too concerned about clothes when everything had been fundamentally fucked up yesterday. Clothes were overrated, anyway.

"Why did you...?" Remus couldn't help but ask. Trying to make sense of things was a new hobby of his. He was still an amateur. Patton pulled his fresh polo on, and Remus tried to ask again hoping he'd succeed with one less distraction.

"Why did you admit we're friends to Logan?"

Patton just looked at him like he was crazy. Crazier than he thought. "Because we are? I had just been talking about how I need to stop pretending we're not friends. Do you really think I'd go back on my word so quickly?" He said incredulously. "Hey, I think I left my hoodie under the bed again. Could you pass it?"

Remus did retrieve the garment from beneath the bed, checking there were no cobwebs or spiders on it. Then he held it, frozen. Remus rivalled Virgil when it came to thinking of worst case scenarios, only Remus wasn't normally scared by them. Now... Remus knew he'd someday ruin everything for Patton. Ruin it like he ruins everything. That's what happens when you're the embodiment of bad ideas. It's not fun anymore when he's ruining something, someone, he actually cares about.

He just wanted Patton to be happy...

Hands rested on his shoulders, comforting and solid. "Look at me," Patton hushed. Remus did.

Since when did his eyes twinkle like that?

"I don't regret it, Remus," Patton said sternly. "I can't afford to spend every sober moment regretting everything." Patton smiled. "I want good memories, however few." His eyes crinkled in that simple, rare way you'd hope to see well worn into his skin one day. That private smile was for Remus.

Patton gently took the hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. "I'm gonna need some tequila for this."

Oh god.

(}ï{)

Now how was Patton supposed to break the news? He chickened out at breakfast, and he chickened out at lunch, now it was dinner. There was chicken on the table and no room for more than one. God, it felt like coming out of the closet all over again. Think, what would Remus do?

"I'm not a virgin," Patton blurted.

Oh yes, very subtle.

Cutlery clattered and clanged combined with collective choked coughing.

That didn't quite come across how he had wanted it to. Perhaps Patton was drunker than he thought and he didn't need that extra liquid courage right before dinner after all. He had been aiming for tipsy, like usual, when he had taken a few shots this morning.

(He didn't know how to get through a whole day entirely sober anymore. Wake up, get dressed, have a couple shots, brush your teeth, have breakfast— it was routine. When sober, he hardly had the energy to maintain his act, but when tipsy, he was just delirious enough for his insanity to come across as jovial joy.

Yes, that did mean Patton was living with a constant hangover.

And no, he could not find the strength to care.)

Perhaps he had overshot it with his nerves making him lose count.

All well, it served the same purpose.

Last time, anyway, Patton had just blurted that he thought guys were attractive, and it turned out fine. (Which went something along the lines of:

"Boys are hot."

"Duh."

"They are indeed glorious creatures."

"I can confirm that that is a factual statement.")

Why should it work any different this time?

Wait, why is no one saying anything?

Patton looked around at his fellow sides, and they all looked like they saw a creepy crawly death dealer sitting comfortably on his head.

"Did you hear me?"

As their brains caught up, Virgil and Roman both spluttered, "What?!" There was another brief silence before the information caught up to Logan, and he too followed with a small, "What?"

Bewildered, Virgil and Roman's heads snapped around at Logan. "You mean— you didn't...?"

"No," Logan said, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I dreamt what I saw yesterday," Logan eventually said. All of the colour was drained from him. "Yeah, I know, so surprising how articulate I can be when I'm drunk," Patton half joked defensively.

"Do you know what virgin even means, Patton?" Roman asked slowly, hoping this was one of Patton's hilarious misunderstandings. Patton sighed. "It means someone who hasn't had sex before. And I have. So I'm not," he said, beginning to curl in on himself. He felt trapped like an insect enveloped in a water droplet, not strong enough to break the surface tension.

"With you always expecting me to be honest I wouldn't have thought you'd be so surprised when I actually am," Patton observed bitterly. Something about the mention of truthfulness struck a nerve in Virgil, resulting in a false epiphany. "Deceit?" Virgil said sceptically. The glare pressing on Patton made him feel like he nearly lost his footing despite not moving an inch.

"Wha— no, I'm not Janus!" Patton said incredulously. "Not that being Janus is a bad thing," he added under his breath. Patton wouldn't be offended to be compared to Janus under normal circumstances. However in this situation, he was put off by the negative connotations Virgil was associating with Janus.

"That sounds like something Deceit would say," Roman mused.

"Oh, you want proof? Fine! Janus!" Patton summoned. A very discombobulated Janus appeared, much to the others' surprise. "I know exactly what's going on," he lied.

"You are Janus, I am Patton, correct?" Patton snapped. "...No?" Janus said, utterly confused. Slightly scared too.

"See?" Patton pleaded. Meanwhile, Janus glanced around at everyone else's faces screwed up in confusion and some other indecipherable glob of emotions Janus deemed safe to assume as anger. "Jesus, good luck," he muttered to Patton, and he promptly sank out.

"We just never thought— you always were so pure—"

"Because that's what was expected from me!" Patton heaved a breath, pushing back his tears. "I committed adultery! There! I said it— and no, I don't mean adulthood," he announced. Those words felt like screaming in a claustrophobic space. Stretching, stuffed into a suitcase, and feeling the unforgiving, unrelenting walls. It felt like breathing in the vacuum of space.

"I knew as soon as I broke that perfect, innocent image of me you have, you wouldn't react well. And guess what? You're acting exactly like I expected you to!" He screamed. With another sharp, trembly breath, he vented all his frustrations out to people other than Remus for the first time.

He lost it.

"You've always treated me like a fucking child even though I'm the oldest. Telling me to shut up and _let the adults talk,_ and _this is a grown up conversation,_ or o _h, you wouldn't get it Patton_ even. Always sheltering, patronising me as if I'm not over thirty fucking years old," a lump formed in his throat. "I'm Thomas's heart. Where do you think his feelings of lust come from?!" Miserable strings of choked back words wound up like a ball of yarn into an incomprehensible howl that tumbled out of Patton.

"When I learnt what repression means, it sounded like something that perhaps wasn't the best thing for me to keep doing, an-and I thought you'd want me to stop. That you'd be happy for me if I did," he whimpered.

"W-we did! We are!" Roman quickly jumped in. "It's just... just not— you... um, listen Padre, uh we," he faltered. Looking to Logan for guidance, they just found him lost in his head, eyebrows scrunched, grimacing.

"Hold on, if it wasn't us then it had to have been a dark side," Virgil finally realised. Roman gasped, and Logan grimaced harder.

"I'm also an alcoholic?" Patton said in an attempt to quickly distract. It distracted them alright, only their reactions were just as bad or worse. It sent them all into a senseless squabble.

"So there was no consent then?" Virgil spoke up, mildly horrified.

What the fuck did he just hear?

Jaw slacked, breath fumbling, all Patton could hear for a moment was his thudding heart before a feeble, "Of course there was," escaped him. "I can think for myself I-I-I'm not a child I..." And he looked like he'd just been stabbed, they saw. Between his ribs, the knife twisted, locking the blade in and exuding pressure. Because no, they're not letting his blood spill. Can't have carpet stains now, can they?

"He must have been manipulating you. Making you vulnerable with— with drinking and taking advantage of you," Virgil said, seeming almost concerned for him. "He's a dark side, he can't genuinely care about you. It's the only explanation," Roman agreed rather bluntly.

His ears must be broken.

Patton's eyes glistened. _"How_ could you _say that?_ " The watery whimper scraped his throat. "He's my friend." Patton wouldn't let a tear fall; he refused. Only his true friends were allowed to see him that vulnerable.

"This— this isn't— please just listen, please! I just wanted to be more honest with you all, an-and I was hoping yo-you'd accept our friendship..." Patton finished lamely.

"He is a dark side, Patton," they said. "We are your friends," they said. "We are the ones who really care about you," they said. Lying was wrong, they had said. Hypocrites.

Mouth helplessly clamped shut, his thoughts ricketed around his skull like a brick in a washing machine. He wouldn't have had to resort to alcoholism if they hadn't made him bottle his feelings. Remus would never hurt him, he's a good friend! Patton has been by his side when Remus was so fucking high, he didn't even recognise him, and not for one moment did he even consider hurting him in any way! Remus cares. Maybe this whole thing was one big mistake. Patton always belonged with the others, not Virgil. And if Virgil had already made the switch over, then it was his turn. Patton had thought, _hey, maybe I'm wrong. They're my friends; they love me._ But he was wrong. Stupid, nieve Patton being wrong, who knew.

Remus wouldn't treat him like this.

Reverting to his last resort, Patton pleaded, "How can Thomas love himself if he can't accept himself? If you can't accept us?"

Completely unmoved, they held up their hands to address him as a scared, dumb animal. Their voice tweaked into a tone used for gently scorning a toddler, "It's okay, Patton. It's not your fault he's manipulated you. We can help. He doesn't have to use you anymore, we can do this together—"

"F-fuck you. **Fuck. You. Bastards.** "

As he sunk down, Patton called back one last thing, "By the way, Roman.

I fucked your brother."

(}ï{)

Why? Why, why, why, why, why— It's all Logan could think the whole time. It just didn't compute, no matter how valiantly he tried to understand. Why why why why why?!


	6. Ducks

** Bubble Bath **

** August 14th, 2018. **

"Five? Normally you're sated by three," Patton said incredulously.

Sloshing water over the tub's edge, their knees knocked together. Patton and Remus's bones had become saturated with warm water, and the bubbles were seeping in now too.

"I got worked up badly."

"But five!—" Patton's rasping voice broke into a cough. Remus reached out on impulse to touch his throat as if to soothe. It at least brought comfort as Patton pressed into the heat of his palm. The action encouraged Remus to curl his fingers, but he didn't dare apply any pressure. Turning relaxed and pliable, the full, bowling ball weight of Patton's head fell trustingly in his grip. Even his eyes slipped closed, the little puppy.

(Poor, touch starved thing, taking every morsel of affection so hungrily like it could cure years of neglect.)

"I'm sorry," he sincerely said, "I shouldn't of— I, I never should have asked this of you." Gaze settling on the froth of bubbles steadily dissolving in the water, his hand fell away.

Only for Patton to catch it. He brought Remus's hand to his lips, kissing the back like a gentleman. He shook his head fondly. "I know I can say no. Stop worrying."

"Yeah, but still, Moonshine. I should restrain myself more—"

Sparing his tender throat, Patton abandoned his voice in favour of booping Remus's nose. That shut him up. He choked on a surprised laugh, tossing his head back. Wanting to giggle himself, Patton just smiled at him while his stomach clenched. When Remus stopped laughing, he winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

Patton tugged Remus forward by his hand still clasped in his, and positioned him with his back to his chest. Deft hands delicately came to hold Remus's neck, just beneath his jaw. His thumbs threaded into the baby hairs at his nape. (The brief thought of being strangled to death, his body left floating in the bathtub framed as a tragic, accidental drowning crossed his mind. Remus had the compulsion to blurt it out, yet ground his teeth.) Tilting his head just so... Click-ck! And the other way... Cra-a-ack. Air trapped between the segments popped like thunder. Shivers ran through him, soothing the kink in his neck, but consequently triggering a different kink (one he didn't even know he had until right then). "God, I didn't realise I needed that," he sighed appreciatively.

Migrating, Patton settled one hand on Remus's ribs flexing from the aftershocks of his boisterous, rumbling laughter. Patton could feel Remus's scurrying rabbit heart. De-dum, de-dum— de-de-de-dum, dum. De-dum. Remus's rabbit heart hopped beneath his palm. Loud, rough, and wild, it nudged at Patton affectionately. His heart had always beaten a little faster, a little harder. A little more passionate than it should, leading it to stumble and hiccup occasionally. Every beat, his heart plucked his muscles like the strings of a viola, each pizzicato note a jolt singing through his body. In contrast, the base of his lungs took short yet deep breaths. Wisps of curly, deep cinnamon seasoned, caramel chest hair grasped and coiled around Patton's fingertips.

Then, trying to coax out another laugh, Patton ruffled his hair.

And white powder clinging on got displaced from Remus's fringe, sprinkling the water and suds.

Patton gasped, "That's why!" (The "I should've known" went unsaid.) Being so used to seeing that streak of silver, Patton had forgotten entirely how and why it was there in the first place.

...

"I tried to distract myself but the two weren't a good combination."

**Trust**

**February 7th, 2019.**

Glue splattered on Patton's face as soon as he popped up in Remus's room. (Well, he thought it was something else first, but quickly noticed it was stone cold, so no.) Fucking perfect. Patton had just walked in on the funeral of a monstrous glob of red and white paper mache of intimidating stature. It had a fresh, gaping, fist sized hole in it, dripping like a miscellaneous orifice.

Mindlessly munching on a pencil, Remus stood back to scrutinise his work. That wouldn't do. Remus summoned his Morningstar over his shoulder. "How do you like this, katoptronophile?!" Remus cackled. His morningstar ploughed through the mache mound vaguely where a head would be in one swift(ish) swing. More pulp splattered Patton's face.

"Really, Remouse?" He whined exasperatedly. Only just noticing him, Remus chirped, "Patton! Could you help me hide the body? I don't have enough stomach acid to dissolve the whole corpse. Wait—" Remus spat out his chew toy of a pencil, carving "ass" into the remaining mulch puddle like a signature. "Hope Double Dee won't be too heartbroken," he muttered thoughtfully, "Eh, whatever."

"Dear lord, you're high as a kite."

"High as a kite? Kites can't go to space!" Remus babbled, doing a little theatrical twirl. "Think of what kind of aliens you can find in space! Do you think any of them have tentacles?!" Losing his balance, he stumbled into Patton slumping on his shoulder. Unbothered, Patton patiently waited for Remus to right himself whenever he wanted.

"Did you get stuck into the cookie jar again?" Patton asked casually as he wiped and flicked off various substances from his face and glasses. Doing a double take, that red better not be blood. Using blood sweat and tears isn't ethical, they've talked about this!

"What? No! Of course not! Now, Puppy, why have you got a rabbit on your head and haven't even introduced me yet?! Who's this little handsome little fella? He looks like a George," and Remus dissolved into a fountain of cooing while he ran his fingers through Patton's hair. (Patton tried not to fucking moan at how good his nails felt scraping against his scalp.)

"Oh, the shrooms..." Patton sighed, "His name is Harold. Harold George—"

"The third! I remember now! How could I forget you? You're so soft."

Indulging Remus was Patton's favourite hobby.

"God, you're so soft I wanna strangle you and skin you so I can have your soft fur all to myself," Remus ranted and Patton tried not to show fear. It wasn't that hard, really... Mostly because he was trying even harder to choke down a begging whimper scrambling onto his tongue. Remus grabbed chunks of his hair in each fist tugging lightly. Patton reminded himself that they weren't impulses Remus would act on and that he had these thoughts constantly just didn't tend to share them. "But I won't cause you're just too cute, my little mammal brethren."

Patton wasn't as cute as his bunny, he thought, but he'd take the compliment.

"Hey do you want some?" Remus offered his pencil to "Harold."

...

"Fine, suit yourself." And he ate the rest like a carrot.

Shoulders slacking, Patton huffed fondly.

"I kind of wish you were like this— open— more..." Patton smoothed down Remus's wrinkled clothes. "I hope you know you don't need to filter everything you say," he continued as he fixed his mussed hair with practiced hands. "It doesn't change anything. You're my best friend. I'll never stop loving you, all of you. I don't love you in spite of your so-called flaws, I love those parts of you just as much as the rest of you."

That's what true love means, whatever form it shall take.

Patton made a mental note to tell him that again once he came down. (Sometime, eventually...)

Remus wrapped him in a bear hug, squeezing just tight enough that he felt his ribs flex, but not painfully. "Whoa," Remus said when he pulled back, eyes wide, "You should keep your skin on, bones and muscle isn't a good look for you."

"Silly Snow Bunny."

**Butterfly Kisses**

**April 16th, 2019.**

"You know, once Thomas asked us all to say "I love you" to each other."

Remus looked up from his sketchbook that rested on Patton's arm looped around him. It was a typical day bundled in cat and kraken onesies respectively.

"...yeah?" He encouraged him to continue. How Patton's pitch dropped made Remus draw suspenseful suspicions. Taking a sip of his rum, Patton prepared himself for potential embarrassment. He tapped his glass, listening to the quiet ringing it sang.

"I... I told them all that I loved them. So much. And I really meant it," Patton said, earnestness framing his words. "I told them that I would give them all butterfly kisses," Patton chuckled at his own stupid, emotional-ness, "which they ignored, of course."

Remus leaned backwards into Patton's chest, trading comfort in the currency of body heat. Peach pink lips mulling over heavy words came into view as Remus tipped his head back. He rested his head on his collarbone, and Patton's breath rustled his hair. He listened intently— Listened closer to these next heavy words than Patton's previous ramblings. "But—" Patton swallowed, adam's apple bobbing, "But Logan could hardly get out the words, Roman was really reluctant, and Virgil refused to say it entirely."

"Well, I love you," Remus said, no hesitation.

Patton was star struck.

"R-really?"

"You're my best friend. Of course I do," Remus said like it was a no brainer— Since it was.

Voice muffled in his next sip, Patton softly said, "You're my best friend, too." He was smiling so much, and ended up biting the glass he hid behind. Mustn't giggle and disturb the lake of quaint quiet with ripples.

"Butterfly kisses are the ones with the eyelashes, right?"

"Uh-m, yea— huh?"

In Patton's lap, he craned his neck over his shoulder rather than swiveling around. Leaning in, warm huffs of air skating across their skin, he fluttered his eyelashes against Patton's cheek. His nose prodded lightly at Patton's jaw. Specks of white powder dusted onto his cheek from Remus's fringe, which he quickly wiped off.

Patton became still and quiet as dawn. Dawn when the moon hasn't said goodbye, and the birds haven't said good morning yet.

"Teacup?" Remus murmured worriedly. Did he overstep a line (drawn in chalk and scrubbed away by time)? No, no— "Thomas must remember that icecream he ate yesterday, should I fetch some from the kitchen?" Remus attempted to quickly mend.

"No..." Pin drop silence squeezed between their synced inhale and exhale.

"No, jus..." Patton drifted off, setting down his half empty glass. (In second thoughts, he hoped he hadn't drunk enough to fray or lose this memory.) His newly empty arm draped around Remus's torso, and Remus tugged his arms close like a well worn winter coat.

"Stay..."


	7. Fuck Me

** The Present. **

Patton flug Remus's door open so fast there was briefly a void where it bluntly cut through and the air was too slow to refill the space.

And he caught the doorknob quickly before it knocked a hole in the wall because he wasn't actually going to trash his friend's place. That would be a dick move.

Patton made a beeline for Remus's bed. Pulling out the mini fridge tucked underneath, not yet pausing to properly acknowledge Remus.

"Patton?"

"Remus."

"What happened?"

"What do you think."

Patton tipped his head back and—

Remus snatched it from Patton's hands and promptly poured the unholy liquid on his carpet. What? Do you really think he cares more about a stain on his stupid carpet than his best friends mental breakdown? Shame. Shame on you.

Patton mournfully watched it sink into the carpet. There was a look in his eyes Remus knew meant he was mentally debating. "If you lick that off the floor I will disown you," he snapped him out of it.

...

Coming to settle beside Patton, he rested a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what happened, Puppy," Remus carefully told him. He applied a warm, gentle pressure with his palm to Patton's shoulder, who subconsciously leaned into the touch, knowing it helped ground him. The poor touch starved soul. Patton was ravanis for touch.

"Don't call me Puppy. I'm not in the mood," Patton quipped.

"Stop avoiding the question."

"I got rid of my fake friends, happy?"

"You— you w-what?" Remus stammered, his grip briefly wavering, yet Patton collapsed further into him. Remus quickly braced him with his other hand as well. The faintest of smiles grace Patton as his eyes fluttered closed for a second. "So what? I've got you."

"But why even are we friends, Patton?" Remus said, desperately confused. "They're not wrong, you've said so yourself. I'm a bad influence on you."

"You say that as if I'm any better of an influence on you," Patton chided, slurring slightly, but he suddenly felt incredibly, painfully sober. The hopeless hurt in Remus's voice felt like an ice cube sliding down his back.

"Seriously, Patton!"

Patton bit his tongue to repress a comment about Remus being a very un-serious person, or a, "Logan, is that you?" Instead he tried deflecting with a half/mostly-truth.

"It doesn't matter. It never has, we just are what we are and I'm happy with us, aren't you?" He said earnestly.

"It does matter if you're going to give up your life as a light side for me— ditching all your friends— for me! Me, of all people," Remus said, feeling like he was talking to a brick wall. "W-wha— what—" his hysterics muddled his words, "What kind of nutter does that?!"

"A nutter who has thought it's tea time for the past couple years I suppose..." Patton dropped his eyes to his knotted fingers, a dead chuckle on his lips. Patton tripped into thinking of what he's really just done.

(Patton didn't have nearly as strict of a moral code as he used to. It's only natural: Morals are completely subjective and change all the time. Currently, his moral code had been stripped down to two rules. Very lenient rules at that. One, as long as you're not hurting others, it's okay. This rule used to include "or yourself" but that part of the rule had been overwritten by his second rule. Don't be a hypocrite.

Rule number two, don't be a hypocrite, was the most important rule and it took prominence over every decision he made. It's the rule that ultimately dissolved every other rule he'd ever made for himself and Thomas. As he kept breaking his own rules, he'd have to cross them off the list.

An identity crisis would be a polite way to describe Patton's mental state. The subjectivity of morality, combined with his ultimately inconsequential feelings, shattered his entire selfhood. (See, his vobaculary consisted of some fucking brobdingnagian words.) But he didn't mope about it. If his feelings didn't matter to anyone else, why should they matter to him either?

Patton would also say that "treat others how you would like to be treated" was a rule he lived by too, but what he really means is "treat others how they treat you" which is, fundamentally, very different. It was also the rule he ended up justifying his words with (not that they needed justification. That's not something truth requires). Patton had hurt them. He knew he did, and he knew it was wrong. Yet, he couldn't seem to summon the energy to bother with apologies. They had treated him like shit. They talked down to and stepped all over his emotions and opinions. He had every right to do the exact same as far as he was concerned.

He was supposed to be morality, after all. He decided what was good and bad or inbetween. If the others disagreed, too bad, he was right by default.)

This is all a long way of saying fuck you. Fuck them. I'm fucking done.

(Fuck was Patton's favourite word, if you couldn't tell. It just felt so, well, fucking good to say. Fucking liberating. Fuck was a word he could always rely on for proper fucking emphasis, and to fill fucking awkward silences. Patton would never be speechless again, even when he's too drunk to conceptualise language, now that he has Fuck to fill that void. Totally didn't have anything to do with the fact Fuck rhymes with duck, something so innocent. So far away from each other while simultaneously being separated by only one letter. Patton could relate to that on a spiritual level.)

Meanwhile, as Patton slipped into spiraling thoughts that would inevitably lead him to, "Would it be better to have a flashy but painful death, say, via explosion, or a boring but less painful death like gorging himself on sleeping pills?" And so on, Remus watched on with due drop round, doe eyes. Tears wedged his eyelids wide open, sclera reddening with the strain. He knew the look on his companions face and it was never good. Under the influence of too many drinks and Remus's room wasn't a good combination.

Maybe if the others hadn't hindered Patton maturing naturally, Patton might not have completely rejected his inherent childness. (Who knows, that's just Remus's opinion.) Doesn't matter now. It wasn't exactly something you could grow back like fingernails to hang on your chalkboard.

Remus presented him with a glass of water.

Patton, regardless of his mental state, looked unimpressed.

"Did you just summon that?" He said, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Just drink it," Remus said, exasperated.

"Everything you summon tastes awful! And it's water that's all I'll be able to taste," Patton cringed, leaning back with folded arms.

Remus scoffed. "As if anything you summon is any better."

"Excuse me, but I'd rather bitter honey over pickle juice so salty it makes your tongue feel dry," he argued.

Glass insistently was pressed against his lips. Remus's eyelids dropped into a deadpan stare, which Patton tried to glare into submission. Remus didn't relent. Slowly, Patton's resolve weakened and slipped from him in a sigh that parted his lips. Glass was simultaneously shoved past his teeth. Patiently, Remus tipped the glass, assisting the pickle-water to flow, until Patton's timid hands had a good hold. Their touch lingered before Remus relented.

Despite the taste, the drink (let's face it, it's hardly water) settled the crashing waves inside his bones, sobering him somewhat.

...

"Just because they've known me longer doesn't mean they know me better," Patton eventually said.

"You're not the one sheltering me supposedly for my own good. You're not the one making decisions for me, talking down to me, making me feel dumb. You're not the one making me pick sides, putting pressure on me. You're the one who lets me be myself. You're the one who I can spill my guts out to. I don't have to worry about judgment, with you. You're my real friend.

And if they won't let me be around you, then so be it. They're not my friends anymore."

"I'm— I-I'm not worth it, Patton."

"Yes! You are! Remus, you're worth everything!"

A rabbit heart hopped in the silence.

"...I love you..." Patton whispered. His eyes widened. He was realising for the first time. " _Love_ love."

"You... you what?" Remus was in shock.

"I wouldn't spend every speck of my free time with someone I didn't love. I wouldn't do favours for someone I didn't love. It took me a while but I— shit— god-fucking-damnit I fucking love you," Patton whimpered. The realisation smacked him over the head like a mace. Him and his foolish heart knew perfectly well that Remus wasn't interested in dating whatsoever. Why must he fall for the one person who can't return his feelings?

"I'm so fucking sorry," dispair warped Patton's words, squeaking past his narrowing throat, into a beg. A beg for it to not be true? A beg for forgiveness? A beg to _please not hate him?_

"It doesn't have to have a label. We'll... figure it out as we go."

Huh?

Nervously, Remus reached out a hand to Patton's cheek. His touch was feather light.

Lightly pressing their skin flush so his emanating warmth seeped into him, Patton held Remus's hand to his cheek. He briefly imagined his hands slipping up into his hair and locking them in a secure grip so Remus could have his way with him in a way that made sense. Not in this gentle, and caring, and unimaginable way. Either way, Patton was more than willing— eager— to give himself. Whichever way he wanted, Patton would pour his love into him.

Patton and Remus had always shown each other their love (platonic or otherwise) in a language they could understand, and Remus wasn't going to stop now.

"Maybe we don't love each other in the same way, but we still love each other, right? That's what matters."

Then Patton chanced a glance at Remus's eyes. A glance turned into a mesmerized stare when Remus's hazel framed, paradoxically glimmering blackhole pupils pulled his gaze in.

Patton had never seen anything like it, but he didn't need to to know exactly what it meant. It was unmistakable. A glimpse into the innermost depth of his being where only the most precious tenderness could reside. It didn't leak into his body language, facial expressions, or even corrupt his words with stutters. It pooled solely in his pupils that had been pumped full of the ebbing love. What breed of love it was didn't matter, Patton would cherish it.

Patton saw past the event horizon.

That's when he realised he'd never seen anything like it within any of the others. Never was there any substance to their charade. He should have known, the fool he was.

Before Patton could react (which in reality was quite slow, but Patton's mind was working at the pace of dragging your feet through mud), Remus scooped him up in his arms.

"I can still walk."

"I know."

Patton felt like he was pushing his luck, but he still had to ask, "Stay?"

"Of course."


	8. No, Fuck Me

** May 2nd, 2017. **

"Oh, fuck."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck of fuck—

"Reeemuuss!"

How could Patton still sound exactly like himself while covered in cocaine and his breath ripe with cider?

Patton was drooling garbled words onto his chest. Everything he slurred barely registered to Remus, who might have blushed if he wasn't so busy trying to process what he was witnessing. "Are you okay?" Was all he could think to say for himself. "Hehe... I've no idea wha' words are righ' now," Patton giggled, summing everything up.

And Patton was staring at him.

Tugging on his sash scrunched in shaky fists, tugging on his heart strings, Patton stared. Centre of gravity balanced on top of him, his trust thrust onto him, Patton stared. He never stopped staring. Never cringed and shied away.

And Patton was _smiling_ at him.

The picture of innocence, tipsy and twisted like an image reflected in a bubble, smiled at him. The epitome of adorableness, smiled at him as if he was the one who beheld someone truly precious. He never stopped smiling. Never cringed and shied away.

Please tell him Patton hadn't sniffed any cocaine.

"Your sash matches your eyes," he said. Remus went cross eyed watching Patton lift a finger to his face. Booping his nose, he triggered a rush of blood to dot Remus with red like scattered fairy lights. His heart started panicking— Patton played with his mustache, the curled ends latching onto him. The little tweaks felt so... nice, weirdly. Remus liked weird.

His heartbeat escalated.

Why did it feel so nice?

It broke into a sprint.

"An' your mustache loo' li'e mouse whis'ers— no! A lil' ca'erpilla'," Patton giggled. And he sounded like fucking jingle bells chiming.

Remus's heart tripped, grasping at his lungs like hanging onto a cliff's edge. His breath struggled with his heart's still, strangling grip.

Nose scrunching, Patton ducked his head into Remus's chest to hide from the kitchen light. Then, Patton became a completely dead weight.

Startling back to life, his heart pounding between the bars of his ribs, it beat so hard it made Patton appear to shiver. He gasped at his circulatory system coming back online. On reflex, Remus looped his arms around Patton's waist so he'd continue to slump against him rather than slide to the floor. Butterflies would have flown if their wings hadn't been sewn shut. As it was, they flopped uselessly at the pit of Remus's gut.

Alcohol poisoning, Remus had previously pondered, was either the best or worst way to go. As figments of the imagination, it was impossible to die.

Accidentally. Accidentally die.

Now, Remus wanted to believe Patton got this drunk by accident. Yet how could someone drink so excessively, so determinedly, without the intent of... and if a figment of the imagination really wanted to...

Remus cradled the jumble of sloshed bones. He sighed. A deep, protective need to cherish him settled in his chest cavity. Nestled snugly under his manubrium, it ached. The ache was a mollusk that anchored to his sternum and sucked on, securing itself. It ached, like a fresh scald. Tender, tingling, hot, and glowing with blood. He wanted to protect Patton from the world, from all the spiders.

Protect him from whatever drove him to do this.

Remus summoned the warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine, bundled him up, and googled how to treat alcohol poisoning (decidedly the worst way to go, in his mind now).

He remembered what to do next time, engraved in his muscle memory.

** The Present. **

"You know what I think? The others have a bias against you just because you're the only one who can pull off facial hair," Patton said, and Remus barked a hearty laugh.

It had been a week and a few days since Patton's revaluation about his feelings. Since then, Remus had had a chance to compute everything, sort out his own feelings, and he was ready to talk about it now. Patton had been patient with him, but over the past week or so he could tell it was eating away at him slowly. Only today did he seem to relax.

Heaping a greedy, chocolatey helping on his spoon, Remus passed back the ice cream tub to Patton who sat crisscross on the floor alongside him. Patton immediately helped himself to more.

What better time than now to talk?

"Apple?"

"Yeah, Ferret Boy?" Patton said around his spoon.

"How much have you had to drink today?" Remus asked. Patton knew he didn't mean water, but was still puzzled. "I had one shot this morning, but I'm sober by now. Why does it matter?" Patton said sceptically.

Then he gasped, already reaching for the mini fridge, "Wait! We should count how many drinks it takes to get me wasted! I must be able to handle more than last time by now—"

"No!" Remus shouted hurriedly, snatching Patton's hands away. "That's not what I was suggesting. I just want you dry for this conversation," he reiterated clearly. Fighting to not instinctively curl up, Patton quietly assessed the situation. As soon as everything clicked, his eyes started aimlessly roaming around the room. Only for his attention to snap back not more than two seconds later by a timid squeeze around his wrists.

Remus had a smile indistinguishable between shyly loving and guilty.

"How does it feel, by the way?" Remus stalled. Patton tilted his head in question. "Being... present more often," he elaborated. Remus's hold slipped down his wrists, cradling Patton's hands. "Honestly," Patton began, unable to draw his eyes from the swirling pattern Remus's thumbs stroked onto his hands. The hypnotic motion helped channel his thoughts. "Time moves a lot slower when you remember everything clearly," he mused, glancing up. "It's quality time." All time spent with Remus was quality time, so the longer the better.

(It was also tiring. The world may be slower, but now his thoughts are faster and they don't flow as easily past his lips. It makes him feel... different. He wants to say he feels more like himself... but he doesn't remember what "himself" feels like. And he's reluctant to say that the person he spent so much time as wasn't him. That was him for so long it couldn't possibly not be him— how could that be any less himself than him before when his memory of both is blurry?)

Remus kept looking at him with that smile he didn't want to keep silently guessing—

"Skip to the point, Remus, please?" He pleaded.

"I'm getting to it, Teacup."

"Emu..." He insisted. Remus had no resolve. He gave in easily as an empty pepsi can. "Okay, okay," and he couldn't help but smile. Nervously, but still. Was it too late to double check he heard Patton right the other day?

"You're my best friend. You'll always be my best friend. But maybe we could be something else, as well?" Remus enfolded Patton's hands into his cupped hands, gently warming them. "Can we be each other's everything?"

"What kind of question— You already are my everything, you crackhead," Patton snapped.

Then he realised what exactly happened.

"Shit, I mean— I meant what I said just— fuck, sorry, didn't mean to say it like that—"

"I love you so fucking much," and with those words, everything Patton was going to say dissolved on his tongue.

Tangling his fingers in the strands, Remus ran a hand through Patton's hair and cradled his head. Patton sunk into his touch, eyes slipping closed with a dopey smile. Warm, real, staying. "Can I kiss you, please?" Remus asked, voice cutely curling in question like a fern unfurling. Patton's eyes creaked back open as if he was waking from a dream. The precious, little puppy, so fragile. Focusing on now, Remus blinked his speeding thoughts away.

"Teddy Bear," Remus chuckled. Blushful, Patton's attention jolted back. "Can I kiss you," he asked again through giggles. It was infectious. Giggles like sparkling champagne bubbles poured from Patton. Toppling over into each other, their foreheads knocked together in their hysterics. Keep laughing, don't cry. "Yes, yes you Rabbit Heart!" Patton spluttered in their spiral of nonsensical laughter. Their lips crashed together. Laughter melded into pleased hums.

Slowing down their clumsy clashing of lips and teeth, Patton suddenly found he had no fucking clue what he was doing. Unrelentingly reassuring, Remus's grip tightened faintly in his hair and he showed him how. The hairs of Remus's moustache tickled his upper lip (and the corners of Patton's lips curled up like said moustache). They could both taste the lingering chocolate ice cream. The kiss felt... natural. Why hadn't they done this before? Yet, they supposed, they were only ready for it now. When they broke apart, their lips were beginning to become plump. Before they fully separated, Remus planted a kiss on Patton's forehead. "I always wanted to do that," he giddily whispered to himself.

Slowly, it dawned on Patton; that was his first kiss. They had kissed each before, but not on the lips. Those didn't count. They'd done everything except kiss each other on the lips because somehow that felt like where the line was drawn. It made no fucking sense. (Patton knew kissing was romantic, but he had never made that explicit connection to sex. In his mind, it meant whatever you wanted it to mean. Maybe because when Remus gave him The Talk, he cut out the "When two people love each other very much, they have a special hug" bull crap.)

But Patton was glad they saved his first kiss for something more meaningful. Romantic.

They always had done everything backwards.

A primal instinct unlocked in Patton. An unmistakable _burning_. Is this how Remus had always felt? Pure, rich, dark desire. (Remus wouldn't call it that, but still.) Eyes dark with his dilated pupils, Patton was staring down at his lips. Staring, staring, so intensely. Confused slightly, Remus leaned back in an inch.

Suddenly Patton was pouncing on him. Patton desperately scrunched his sash in his fist, tugging him closer, closer, closer. Remus rebalanced himself, hands on Patton's thighs. Confidently, Patton kissed him with a bruising firmness that stamped his taste of honey onto him. "Can I?" He begged, panting against his lips. "Please," his voice cracked. Remus nodded in a daze, "Yes." His chest was bare before he could blink. Hastily, Patton hauled him to the bed, and as soon as Remus was flopped on his back, cushioned by pillows and plushies (migrants from Patton's room to Remus's), Patton promptly tore off his own shirt. Glasses caught in the crossfire clattered on the floor.

What the fuck— Remus didn't have time to react. Is this how Patton had always felt? Jesus, he wasn't complaining though. All he could do was fixate on Patton eclipsing his sight, him.

"Do you really...? You've never initiated it."

"Would be silly of me to rip your shirt off if I wasn't interested," Patton joked. "Do you really want this? You're not just... trying to please me?" Remus had to ask. Shaking his head fondly, Patton stroked his cheek, burnishing it into a pink glow.

"I— I want so many things, right now. I want to make _love_ to you. I want, I want—" Voice cracking, Patton dived back down into a desperate kiss. Before breaking apart, panting, he dipped his tongue to taste Remus. Patton savoured the scrape of his teeth against his taste buds. "I want you to moan and keen and whimper like you never have before. I want you to be boneless by the time I'm done with you," he purred.

_Fuck_. Remus whined, _"Yes, god, Moonshine."_

Patton descended on him. He pressed a searing kiss to his cheek then cupped his face before the heat could dim. Pinkie tucked behind his ear, Patton used it as leverage to lead Remus's chin up. A clear, delectable canvass for him. Nipping, kissing down his jaw, neck, collar bone, lapping up his whines like white wine. Remus clutched the sheets like the memory of his sanity. Remus's pulse thrummed beneath his lips. Patton's tongue was a blisteringly hot branding iron against his neck. He'd never had a proper chance to paint Remus before, so he was on a treasure hunt for his sweet spot. One spot that made him squirm, right beneath his chin, got some extra attention. (Now he'd show everyone.)

Most would expect Remus to be loud, yet he was surprisingly quiet. Every sound was for Patton, and Patton's only to hear. Remus kept everything confined in their bubble of space and time. As much as Patton loved his ears being serenaded, he fully intended on swallowing down every sweet sigh and moan he could this time.

Observing his work, Patton sat back where he straddled Remus's hips. Remus splayed his fingers across the expanse Patton's chest and shoulders at arm's length, caught between wanting to soak him all in through touch or sight— press their bodies flush together like a flower to keep, or admire him right now. So broad and steady they were (perfect for piggybacks). Rock carved and polished by lapping, consuming waves with saltwater grit until smooth and round. Not nearly as steady as a figment of imagination with standard, over-the-counter-prescription sanity, but undoubtedly more certain in reality than Remus himself. His shoulders were one of Remus's favourite parts of Patton, directly next to his strong hands and equally gentle words (both of which were big and frighteningly effective at taking his breath away). In the whole stretch of the most likely round wide world, there's nowhere he'd rather be than here. (The world being Patton, and here being in his arms.)

Bloody— For the love of acid, how didn't he see it sooner?

"Are— are you... oh my god you're actually drooling. You're like a Saint Bernard," Patton chuckled. Smirking, he knew just how to drive the adorable, kinky bastard crazy. Patton took Remus's hand, and cracked each knuckle individually. Every pop caused a spark, like striking a match, lighting up his veins.

Crack! Pop! Pop! Snap!

Picking up Remus's other hand, Patton smirked down at him lovingly. Then he cracked every knuckle at once like scrunching bubble wrap.

Remus whimpered— borderline keened.

Only Patton could do this to him. Only Patton knew him this well.

Lacing their fingers together, Patton pressed the back of Remus's hands to his lapel— And his pulse— It was much slower and steadier than his own. All things considered, probably a properly functioning circulatory system. Weird. Remus wondered how that would feel.

His heart fluttered, tangling the surrounding muscles. It left his chest feeling tight.

Remus didn't blush easily, but when he did, he blushed like an anime girl. The entire top half of his body flushed beet red, his love bites hiding for a second. As if raspberries had burst like paintballs all over him.

It was all too much.

But, oh, for Remus... too much was never enough.

Great, his heart was palpitating. For a brief moment, Remus wondered if it was the flustered kind. Then his chest imploded under an invisible weight. His left heart flailed, knocking the air out of him. No, never fun.

Patton could hear his heart beating like a paddle ball. Oh, shit.

Patton quickly summoned a glass of water the moment he saw his eyes lose focus, wide and vacant. Pressing the cool glass to his lips, it felt like ice and Remus swore he heard it sizzled against his tongue.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I know I can trigger it when I'm a bit... intense," Patton apologised in the most calming voice he can possibly manage.

"Don't you dare say sorry, I love it. I just wasn't— prepared."

Remus scrunched his nose at the bitter honey taste.

"This was pay back wasn't it," he commented.

"You said it helped before."

"Yes but— I meant the taste."

"It's not that bad—"

Remus scoffed, "Oh, I beg to differ."

Patton smirked. "Begging now, are we?" He teased.

"You..."

Patton giggled, but it wasn't his normal giggle. It was low, and on the edge of evolving into an alluring growl.

They sat for a while in stillness while Remus recalibrated. Remus tried to strike the balance between breathing in enough and inhaling too much.

"Do you still want to..."

Remus nodded. Patton sighed in relief, "Jesus Christ, I haven't even touched you yet."

"I've never seen you so... so— enthusiastic, is all..."

Patton cupped his jaw, catching Remus's bottom lip under his thumb.

"Is it too much?"

Remus kissed his thumb, then gushed, "No, oh god, I love it. I love you."

"Do you want this?"

"God, fuck yes—" Remus didn't think he had ever wanted anything more, "but do you? You don't have to, you can always say no," Remus reminded—

Patton seized both his wrists, pinning them above his head. "I know. I want to," he said. Pressing their foreheads together, Patton's thudding heart drew out his next words directly from his lungs like it was the most important breath he'd ever take. He whispered to him, "I want to show you."

And that saccharine ache. That loving ache swelled and split Remus's ribs.

There was a silent breath between them in acknowledgement that this wouldn't be like all the other times. No, it would be special. It will be loving on a new level.

Patton captured Remus's lips in another kiss, sealing the moment with a wordless promise.

"Cookie mix or two taps?"

"Cookie mix or two taps."


End file.
